


Bared Teeth

by gawaine



Category: The Blacklist (TV)
Genre: Drabble, Eventual Smut, F/M, Maybe - Freeform, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-22
Updated: 2015-03-28
Packaged: 2018-03-19 00:06:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3588939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gawaine/pseuds/gawaine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Elizabeth Keen needs a lot of things; more training to keep up with her colleagues on the task-force, more protection now that people know about the Fulcrum, a healthy way to deal with her issues other than chaining people to boats and wishing she'd let them bleed out from a bullet wound she'd inflicted. In fact, Liz essentially needs a new life.</p><p>And what better way to give her a new life, than to re-vamp her old one... Complete with her conniving, supposedly dead, ex-husband?</p><p>- A selection of Keen2 drabbles, because their sexual tension is unreal and Lizzie being able to throw Tom regular shade makes me happy. -</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Cold Showers

“Hey, Liz.” Tom smiles and for a moment, she doesn’t see the edge to it - she doesn’t see the way one side of his mouth is curled up in a cruel, almost mocking smirk, she just sees her Tom, from before her life was turned upside down. She sees him standing there, smiling at her, and she forgets that he’s not her husband anymore and that she wants to squeeze the air out of his throat with her bare hands. “I made pancakes.”

That’s all it takes. That’s all it takes for Elizabeth Keen to realise this is an even more awful idea than she originally thought.

—

“The truth is, I - we, this task-force - have failed you.” Director Cooper had told her, watching her seriously from across his desk. He’d already begun speaking before she could defend all of their actions. “Reddington may have demanded he only work with you, but that doesn’t mean we should have assumed you were trained in the way we did. The fact still remains that you are a criminal profiler, Keen. Not a spy. Not a field agent, not in the way Ressler and Navabi are. And bearing in the mind the kind of things that have been required of you these past few months, as well as what you’ve dealt with personally… For you to remain on this task-force, that needs to be rectified.”

“Sir, I completed all of my required training-”

“Yes, but can you honestly say standard training could have prepared you for any of this?”

She hadn’t had an answer. Unable to stop herself, Liz’s mind had cast back to her work on the force; the Stewmaker, Wujing, the Alchemist, the King family… Tom. No, Liz told herself. Not today. Not him, not today.

“Well, sir, what would you suggest?” She’d bitten out, it sounding more aggressive than she meant it to. Honestly, that happened a lot these days. “Extra training with Ressler? Being taken off the task-force and being trained elsewhere?”

“No.” Cooper shook his head, looking… Guilty. That was never a look Liz liked to see on her boss. “No, you - and Reddington, as a result - are too valuable an asset for us to lose to the system. It’ll have to be done… Alongside your work.”

Liz had nodded, waiting.

“That’s where I come in.” Reddington said cheerfully from behind her, instantly making her eyes roll.

“Right.” She’d said sarcastically, turning to face him. “You? You’re going to train me in espionage?”

“Lizzie, do you really doubt my skills in deception, persuasion and manipulation?” Red had sighed and shaken his head. “If so, I am disappointed in your such little faith in me. If nothing else, by now I would have assumed we shared a healthy respect for one another’s skill-set.”

“So it is you?”

“No.” Reddington told her, making her eyes roll again. Red so loved his dramatics. “In this particular case, I don’t think you’d benefit as much as you could from my… Particular brand of behaviour.” Liz instantly stiffened as she noticed his tell - when he’d glance down at the floor for a brief second, before delivering her a blow. “This task-force requires the best, I wouldn’t work with you otherwise. Any extra training will therefore need to be of the best, too.”

Liz turned back to Cooper, confused.

“I don’t understand.”

“Just…” Cooper had sighed again and now Liz knew, for sure, that she was screwed. “Keep an open mind, Keen. Try to.”

“Lizzie.” Red said calmly, regaining her attention. Her stomach was in knots. “We’re calling in Tom Keen.”

She didn’t hesitate.

“Are you out of your goddamn mind?”

—

But, unfortunately, Reddington had been serious. She’d fought it, but Red had built his case well enough that Cooper had agreed. Liz needed to deal with her emotions. She needed protection. She needed training. She needed a better cover, something to fall back on, something that made her less suspicious. In short, everyone thinks she needs a life - so she’s getting back her old one.

“Let me make one thing abundantly clear.” Red says, staring at Tom with an unimpressed expression. It takes all of Liz’s self control not to run from the room, screaming. “Tom Keen, I do not like you. Whilst I can accept your dedication to your profession is… Somewhat unparalleled, I do not like you at all. In fact, if your talents were not so uniquely useful in this situation, nothing would please me more than shooting you in the gut and watching you die a slow and painful death as your stomach acids dissolved your internal organs. That said, nobody else knows how to make Lizzie’s life look perfect quite like you do and so in the event of someone is coming after her, which they undoubtedly will, then we all have to accept that your references thus far lead me to expect nothing short of completely optimal job performance.” Red stares at Tom and Liz is feeling her shoulders tense with every word, because Red making threats for her safety makes it real. This is happening. This nightmare is actually happening. Liz glances between the two men as Red steps forward towards Tom - and although they’re on opposite sides of the room, Liz can’t help but notice the way both men stiffen.

“Do not screw this up. I can’t shake you and for the life of me I do not understand why, but if we’re going to do this, if we’re going to pretend to be amicable for the sake a common goal, then please understand that my patience is being tested more than enough as it is. I will not hesitate to end you, should you choose to piss me - or Lizzie here, for that matter - off.” That’s when he does it - that trademark Red smile, the one where he tilts his head to the side and looks at the other person like they’re prey. “Are we clear?”

It’s an odd moment, one of those rare few that Lizzie likes to forget about later - but in that moment, Elizabeth Keen is very, very grateful for Raymond Reddington. Tom’s cocky smirk is gone and even though Liz knows what he’s capable of, it’s nice to see him take Red’s words so seriously; and she can see he has, too, in the way his chin is tilted up and his eyes are dark against his expressionless face. If Tom is going to take anyone seriously, it’s Red. And right now, in that moment, Liz feels like Red is the only one truly on her side. She’ll never admit it.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” Red beams, before turning to Lizzie. She appears cold, acting as if she's still livid at Red for having any part of this all in the first place. It’s not dishonest, but it’s not quite as true as Liz is making out, either. “Lizzie, darling, I’m going to leave the two of you to get reacquainted. If you need anything, including a bullet through his skull, your landline has already been installed with Dembe and I’s speed-dial.”

Liz just nods. After one more unimpressed glare in Tom’s direction, Red is gone. The door clicks shut and then it’s just the two of them, staring at one another.

She hasn’t seen him since the court thing, not really, and he looks different now; his hair is longer than what it was when he was her Tom, though only slightly, and it’s pushed away from his face so that you can see his eyes better.

For that reason alone, she does not like his hair. She doesn’t want to see his eyes better.

He’s dressed differently, too; boots, slim-fit jeans, a plain grey T-shirt that clings to the outline of his body. For the millionth time, though for a different reason than before, Liz wonders how she missed it - how she didn’t see her life was a lie. Because really, what kind of grade school teacher had that kind of body when he didn’t work out?

He steps towards her, slowly, and her body instantly tenses. She can’t help it. Her brain flashes through images that don’t make sense, like him throwing her head-first into a wall and kissing her in the shower, and by the time he’s standing one step away from her, she thinks her knees are going to buckle from the insanity of it all. She can’t do this. She can’t relive it all again.

It’s not until she notices Tom’s eyes dropping to notice how her lips twitch slightly in anger, that she feels the heaviness of the air. It’s thick with… Tension, settling on her shoulders and rooting her to the spot. He looks like the Tom Keen she thought she knew. The difference is, she never wanted to kill _that_ guy.

“We’ll start tomorrow.” He tells her, crossing his arms over his chest. She used to love how he was taller than her, how that meant they fit perfectly when they cuddled. Now, all she can think about is that his head is too high for her to head-butt. “You should get some sleep.” He leans forward and Liz prides herself on how she doesn’t jerk back, even if she wants to. “Coach’s orders.” He whispers, the amusement in his eyes telling her she’s being mocked.

“I don’t take orders from you.” Liz tells him quietly, staring him right in the eye. Eyes she used to stare into and feel nothing but joy, eyes that lied to her for years. It doesn’t go unnoticed to her that her words are childish, but in that moment, she doesn’t care. She doesn’t care. Tom straightens and smirks again and she swears to God, if he keeps that up, there’ll be blood on the carpet before Liz can say _anger management_.

“Hmm, that’s true.” Tom nods innocently, before smirking down at her. “At least, not yet, anyway.” He brushes past her then, their bodies not once touching but him being close enough for her to smell his smell - cotton and vanilla and air and that special Tom smell that not even he could fake - and Liz’s jaw tightens at the sensation. Every muscle in her body does. “Enjoy the pancakes.” Tom calls after her, as he leaves the room. A few minutes later, the door quietly shuts.

Liz takes one look at the pancakes before slamming them into the trash, imagining they were Tom's face.


	2. When the Lights Go Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom and Liz blow hot and cold. That's to be expected, really.
> 
> What's not to be expected, is Liz imagining her lying, cheating, scumbag ex-husband with her in the shower.

Tom comes home late that night.

He knows she's probably waiting, ready to  _not_ hear the door creak open; he knows that a big part of her wants, desperately  _needs_ , for him to not walk back in - because that means he's still there. That means they're not done.

But that's the truth. They're not.

He was lying, before. He knows that now and in fairness, deep down, he probably knew it all along. When he was chained up in that boat... He'd been pushing her.  _You haven't asked me_. Bullshit. He hadn't loved her then. At least, not enough to take notice of it.

It had all been a scam. He'd been testing her and he found no shame in admitting that. But that's where it had started. When she hadn't taken the bait, it had started, that... Feeling. Not love. Not appreciation for all of their good memories, at least, not yet, anyway. No. But the one thing that had been missing in all of the time he'd been with her, in all of the time he'd known and pretended to love and betrayed her, he'd felt that.

Tom had felt respect.

He'd hated her too, sure, but hey - he'd been trained by the Major. He was a world renowned criminal, except he wasn't, because nobody really knew who he was - which in his field, made him fucking fantastic. With each day that he'd been chained to the boat, Elizabeth Keen had shown a side to him he'd been forced to respect - first out of professionalism and then out of something else. She'd kept her resolve. She'd pushed aside her emotions, emotions Tom only knew had been so strong because he'd once lived them - but she'd made him doubt that.

It took a lot for him to doubt himself. He was a professional. But Liz had outdone herself, professionally and personally and Tom could appreciate that more than anyone.

He'd been scared too, of course. Of course! Liz, going off the rails like that? He'd suspected, sure, that she had a dark side. But nothing like  _that_ _._

He sneaks in, not leaving a trace of his arrival for when she wakes up. She's in the bedroom, which surprises Tom a little. He knows she's probably not keen on him slipping in beside her, that much is obvious, but he had kind of hoped she'd have chosen the couch instead. After all, he was still the untrustworthy ex, even if they'd been... Talking, recently. He finds it amusing when she's was mad and her taking the couch would have been like watching a child throw a tantrum. Absurdly adorable.

He checks himself for that last part.  _Adorable_. That's the Tom Keen that wasn't cute, not who he is now.

That said, he isn't totally stupid. Liz is acting as if their frequent phone calls in the past few months have meant nothing, but Tom knows that's just because she feels cornered; and he knows from experience that she doesn't like being cornered. He's almost died twice, as proof of that.

He checks on her, before he leaves. Cracks the door open, silently in the way only he knows how, and watches her sleep for a second. She stirs slightly, but not enough to wake up -  he can see from how her body is still coiled and ready to spring into action that she fell asleep alert, which Tom thinks is stupid, because that's clearly just exhausted her out more anyway. But she's jittery and he supposes he can understand that, even if he hasn't felt that way in a long time.

He closes the door.

Tom sleeps on the couch for a few hours, still wearing his jacket, before disappearing again before the sun has risen.

It's like he was never even there.

 

. . .

 

Something doesn't feel right when Liz wakes up. She can't understand what or why, but her instincts are screaming it at her and she hates it, she hates it because she still can't trust facts because they deceived her so much and for so long before.

Still, she relaxes a little - or so she tells herself. Maybe Tom's bailed. Maybe he's gone. Maybe this was all a bad dream and now that she's awake, she can go back to her normal life...

Though, a little voice reminds her, that so-called "normal" life still involves impromptu phone calls with her ex.

Liz shrugs it off.  _You just need some coffee_.  _Your brain doesn't function right without coffee._

She brushes her teeth and washes her face, she jumps every time she makes something creak. By the time she'd done all of the necessities, she feels stupid. There's nobody there. And seeing as she's dead-bolted the door to epic proportions, Tom isn't getting in unless he knocks.

So she allows herself the small liberty of leaving the bathroom door half-open while she showers. She enjoys the shower - hot water on cool, clammy skin, sweet-smelling soap replacing the dry sweat, gifted to her by anxiety throughout the night. It's relaxing.

Right up until the moment when she's soaping herself down, and suddenly thinks of Tom Keen.

It hits her out of freaking  _nowhere_ and that's the worst damned part! She's rubbed soap into her arms and under them, she's washed her face and haphazardly ran shower gel all of her chest and stomach, but it's as she's moving up from her calves, as she's rubbing slowly into some of the bruises that still hurt from her field mission last week... It just hits her out of nowhere.

It's a mistake to be so shocked, because her mind immediately takes advantage of her barriers being down. She's already thinking two steps ahead by the time she realises what she's doing and that's even worse because by then, even the  _conscious_ part of her wants to know what happens next and that's sickening.

Right?

They've showered together before. That's the problem. It's like... Muscle memory.

One hand is resting on the inside of her thigh and the other is on the wall as she braces herself, as her eyes flit closed (she pretends it's the water going into her eyes, but deep down, she knows better) and she gets sucked back into the past. 

Again.

He's always had this move, where - if she's in the shower first - he slips in quietly behind her, Liz ignorant of his presence until that glorious moment when she feels his long, warm fingers pushing gently into her waist.

 _Guess now you know how he was always so quiet about it_.

The thought jerks her back to her senses and the hand on her thigh quickly removes itself, so she's left staring at her leg with an incredulous expression. What's she doing? What is  _wrong_ with her?

She gets on with her shower, quick and rough -  _like he would be now?_ , she angrily dismisses the thought - hurrying to be done.

Warm fingers digging into her waist, before they would stretch out, splaying against her hips - pulling her against him...

 _Stop it_! She internally shrieks, bracing herself against the tiled wall, trying to focus on the one trickle of cold water running down her spine against the rest of the warm ones instead.

It just feels like she's shivering with something, not cold, but...

Dread, disgust and bucketloads of shame fill her stomach at the thought.  _Anticipation_.

Her ass against his crotch, his hard, defined hips pushing into her back, his breath warm and heavy and seductive in her ear as his lips hover, teasing her as to where and when his mouth will go...

" _No._ " Liz snaps to herself, shutting off the water and stepping outside of the shower.

She wraps the towel around herself quickly, not caring if it's wonky or not secure enough. She just has to stop. She has to stop thinking about it, all of it. She - the last time she was in the shower with him,  _he'd had blood on his hands_. Maybe not literally - at least, not to her knowledge - but he'd just killed someone. A girl. Someone  _Liz had known_ , Lucy Brooks, even if Liz hadn't really known _her_ , either (though she still thinks Lucy fancied her husband, whether she was pretending to be Jolene or not). He'd touched her with hands he'd used to pull the life out of someone and she knows that and she hates him for it, yet her body is longing for him in the goddamn _shower_?  _What_? She's a criminal profiler, she's a student of psychology. What the Hell does that say about her?!

She forces herself to imagine it - the blood, red and damning, running down the drain as he'd kissed her. She tries to invoke disgust, tries to create a Pavlovian effect.

But Liz has to grab hold of the sink in a mixture of horror and shock, as she feels a thrill run down her spine instead.

It's wrong. It's so so so so wrong, but she can't ignore it. For a second, for a split second, she sees it - her hands bloody too, because she's not innocent, both of them with bloody hands kissing and touching and pulling on each other; and the memory, that equally sick and sweet memory, is suddenly a fantasy. He's not soft and gentle, but she's not like that any more either and hey, he was just giving her what she wanted, right? She doesn't want that now.

What would he give her, that she wanted... Now?

Her mind is totally disregarding any sense of logic at this point and Liz squeezes her eyes shut, trying to tell herself it'll be okay, that she's just freaking herself out because her brain is trying to cope with the stress of the situation. She repeats it to herself like a mantra, to the point where she doesn't even realise she's muttering quietly to herself aloud.

It still doesn't stop it. It's all lies, anyway.

She's not soft and she's not gentle - she's angry. She's angry and now, worst of all, she's horny and  _what if_ s keep running through her head. What if she'd found out? What if she hadn't? What if what he did wasn't so abhorrent because he did it like her, did it  _with_ her, did it for a greater good instead of for everything wrong in the world? What if he still kissed her with that urgent, loving - no,  _no!_ \- passion that made her toes curl, except she was pressed against the shower wall with her arms trapped above her head and his tongue on her throat; or if he shoved her against the wall, her legs tied around his waist, staring her down with their noses touching with those harsh, dark  - but strong, so strong,  _God_ she wished she could be that strong - eyes as he rammed into her, slow and deep, as she refused to scream out as much as she wanted to because she wouldn't - _couldn't_ \- give him the satisfaction?

What if, what if, what if what if what if -

"Still not dressed and ready at 6am, you've gone soft, babe." Liz just about stops herself from tripping over... Well, herself, because all of a sudden he's standing in front of her and - wait a second,  _how_ _,_ she dead-bolted the fucking door! - leaning against the doorframe and oh God, she's in a towel and she can't trust her body,  _herself_ in this predicament, not when she's just found out how truly mentally unstable she is.

It happens in a millisecond, this realisation, and she's suddenly pulling at the knot of towel hiding her body from Tom's eyes. In that moment, she realises how stupid towels are. They're not big enough. At least, this one isn't. This one barely covers the small scrap of dignity she still has in front of this man, or at least, as far as _he_ knows.

She lost a lot a few seconds ago.

"Oh, come on, Liz." Tom sighs brazenly, almost as if he's  _bored_ of the situation - but his eyes don't leave hers and they're... Liz tries to hide her gulp. They're the same dark, harsh, but  _strong_ eyes that she was just trying to forget.  _Maybe you should demand he wears glasses. The tinted kind_. "It's not like we both haven't been naked in front of each other before."

It's like someone has thrown a bucket of ice over her.

Is it that obvious? Is she still so damn easy to read?!

... No, she decides. No. Because if that were true, Tom's eyes wouldn't be roaming down her body, even if his shoulders are stiff and he looks visibly tense with the effort to  _not_ look.

 _It's not just me_ , she realises with a weird, twisted feeling in her stomach.  _This is weird for him, too_.

She gets it now. Her hair is dry and still wrapped up in a bun, but the rest of her body is golden and lean and glistening with hot water and there's still steam wafting out of the room they're both in. The only thing different from...  _Before_ , is the much more predatory look on Tom's face and the bruises on Liz's thighs from work (she'd had to strangle somebody. With her legs. A-la-Tom style). 

 _He sees it too_.

No. Oh God, no. This is so fucked up.

"Are you gonna leave, or not?" She's proud of herself for how even and steely her voice sounds, even though her heart is... Not pounding, actually, but it feels like it's beating so slow that she can feel every chug of her heart. It's almost painful. Almost, but not quite. 

They stare each other down - and boom. It's like the weird thing that just happened didn't happen at all.

"You were meant to be ready a half hour ago." Tom tells her coolly. Liz just stares. God, she hates him. More than she ever thought possible, especially in that moment. "Hurry up and get dressed, we've got work to do."

She says nothing as he leaves, though she does jump half a foot in the air when he kicks the door shut behind him. That's unexpected. She didn't expect him to give her... Privacy.

_Or did you not want him to?_

Liz quickly gets dressed after that and decides to never, ever,  _ever_ have a warm shower without coffee and a therefore functioning brain, ever,  _ever_ again.

Ever.

 _So_ fucked up.

 


End file.
